Two

BJ

She blows air out of her mouth, nervous, shrugs it off.

Like she’s about to walk into a cage fight, that’s how her face looks.

I try my best not to laugh but I smirk a little. She frowns and smacks me in the arm.

“It’s not funny.” She glares. I smile more but it’s just because of her accent. Australian. Pretty hot.

“They hate me,” she tells me.

“They don’t.” I roll my eyes at her.

Hate is a strong word, and my parents definitely don’t hate her. They don’t hate anyone. Don’t even think my mum could hate Mussolini, let alone Jordan Dames, the only girl I’ve ever brought home for her to meet besides… well, you know who. So Mum definitely doesn’t hate her.

My siblings though…

“Jordan!” Mum sings as soon as I open the door and J holds out some flowers and a bottle of wine. She insisted on both. Pointless though because Mum already likes her and I can see Madeline rolling her eyes in the corner of the room. (“Kiss arse,” she whispers to Dad, who elbows her quiet.)

Mum takes the flowers, kisses my cheek and walks away.

“Don’t you just look beautiful!” Mum calls back at her as she puts them in a vase.

She does. She is. Black hair, blue eyes, big mouth for a white girl. Kind of like a hot Snow White.

“Sit, sit — we’re just about to eat,” Mum tells us.

Jordan sits between Mum and me.

Smart.

Protection on both sides.

Henry sits on my other side, nods his chin at her as a hello. He’s pretty reserved with her, always has been — probably has to be, I reckon, but at least he doesn’t pile on like our sisters. Not to her face, anyway.

Madeline sits directly across from Jordan though.

I pour her wine. Pour some for myself.

“Jordan.” Mads gives her a cool smile.

We met through Jonah’s stupid-hot cousins from Australia who came over for the dregs of Europe’s summer. Two sisters, Scotland and Taylor Barnes — I’d go there if I could, but I can’t. Not worth the drama though. Anyway, the girls brought Jordan with them.

We hooked up one night after Man U fucking creamed Bristol and we were on the good foot and then she kind of just stuck.

Decided to stay for a bit. Deferred her final year at university, got a job here in PR, covering for someone on maternity leave.

I didn’t ask her to be my girlfriend. Heard her refer to herself once at a dinner, and then the next day I woke up and it was fucking everywhere. I like her, it’s fun. Felt like a heavy conversation to tell her that I wasn’t in the market for a girlfriend so I didn’t have it and now it is what it is. Second relationship I’ve been in in my life and I fell into it.

It’s good. She’s good. She’s easy. In the good way, not in the other way. It’s easy with her. And she came at a good time, even if it was a pretty unplanned arrival. I was better when she came, but actually, that had nothing to do with her and everything to do with this article The Sun ran back in September.

Magnolia at The Met, BJ back in Blighty, drunk and alone.

That was the article title.

They got me half-right. Definitely drunk, seldom alone though.

I knew Magnolia would have seen that article, knew she would have seen that photo of me sunk back in the chair, eyes blurry and shit. I know she knows my mouth better than anyone else ever has or ever will and I know she’d know from that photo I’d been kissing someone. I also know she’d know that I was fucked up. High as shit. Forget that Parks was on the cover of the magazine too, glistening away on the arm of Rush fucking Evans, forget that it made me sick to my stomach where his hand was on her waist; without even a word from her, I knew in the centre of myself how she would have felt when she saw me like that. I hated the feeling of her being ashamed of me, and I knew she would be. She would have looked at that article, swallowed heavy, then flipped it over and tossed it away. She probably piled it under a bunch of other magazines, trying to bury the truth of what I’d become because she’d be embarrassed to be associated with me when I was like that — and we’re always associated, even when we haven’t spoken in nearly a year.

I stopped taking drugs after that photo ran.

And then the therapy, I’d already been doing that a while — Bridget Parks’s doing, I’d bet my life on it. She’ll deny it though.

Bridge hasn’t spoken to me directly since it all went down, but around June, the day after a particularly damning article about me ran in The Mail, ten prepaid sessions with one of London’s top psychologists arrived in the post with a note that just read Or lose her forever.

Four and a half months of weekly therapy sessions and I can tell you this: I probably have lost her forever.

And a bit of that might always feel like a punch in the gut, but it’s okay, I think.

I fucked up.

For a lot of reasons. Some of them might even be valid, some of them might even wash what I did away, but I still fucked up. No one else made me do what I did.

And I was always going to lose her with the way I was going…

Don’t know why I kept it from her for so long. She was always going to find out, and whenever she did, there was at least always a chance that she would be done with me right then.

That killed me for a bit.

That maybe we were always going to end no matter what…

But when I sort of accepted that — that maybe we were star-crossed lovers, or whatever — you know, fire and powder, dying in our triumph, all that shit — I was more okay than I thought.

I started therapy to get her back, wanting to grow into the kind of person she’d want to be with, be good enough, be the sort of person worthy of a girl like Parks. I definitely wasn’t before and maybe I won’t ever be — even if we’re dead in the ground for good, can’t hurt to try to be good enough anyway.

I put my arm around my girlfriend.

My girlfriend. Weird to say. Fresh to say too.

Only been about a month since that article ran and I just rolled with it. Been hanging out a bit longer than that though. Met at the end of August and started hooking up late September.

Now here we are. Nearly mid-November and I have girlfriend number two at the ripe old age of twenty-five.

“Where’s Taura?” Allison asks Henry brightly.

Henry squashes a smile, pretends he doesn’t notice the stark difference between their interest in Taura Sax and their complete disdain for Jordan.

Mads has always been weird about the girls I hang out with. Allie and Jemima are usually fine, but none of them are fine about Jordan. It’s like they’ve all been possessed by the ghost of my ex-girlfriend who lived in Holland Park and wasn’t very friendly to new people.

“New York, actually.” Henry nods. “Flew out two days ago.”

“Oh.” Dad nods. “What for?”

Henry clocks me, nervous. Licks his bottom lip. “Uh, to bring Magnolia home.”

“What?” Jordan sniffs, amused and confused. “She can’t fly by herself?”

And the look Henry gives her… If I was a better boyfriend, I’d call him out on it. I mean, fuck, if someone ever looked at Parks like that I’d hit them. But Jordan’s not Parks, so I just give my brother a look.

“She didn’t grow up here, Hen.”

“They can be quite mean to her,” Jemima says, taking a sip of wine.

Jordan frowns, confused. “Why?”

“Because she’s beautiful.” Jemima shrugs like she’s not just merrily tossing grenades about.

“My god, did you see her at The Met?” Al shakes her head.

Maddie rolls her eyes. “With Rush Evans again? She’s so lucky—”

“Her dress was perfect.” Jemima sighs. “Versace?” she asks no one in particular.

It was definitely Gucci — I shouldn’t know that but I do. Plus, felt like it might have been for me. Not for me, at me, maybe? A solid ‘fuck you’, red carpet edition. I miss all her chatter about clothes. How much she loves them made me love them. She looks good, she always does though. Sometimes her photos just pop up. Algorithms and shit, you know? Also, I love her, so sometimes I peek. Bit weird, probably shouldn’t, but her face is her face and it begs to be looked at.

“People can be quite cruel to beautiful things. For no real reason at all.” My mum gives Jordan a thoughtful smile, but her face shifts and I can tell she’s missing the same girl I’m always missing even though I shouldn’t any more. Mum shakes her head, shakes it off like I should too. “Public fascination for Magnolia has always been a private burden.”

“Why do people care about her so much?” Jordan asks, and I think it’s a genuine question, even though Henry hears it as a sulk.

“Because she’s Magnolia Parks,” Madeline says. If Parks ever heard this specific sister of mine defending her she’d probably die happy. Wish I could text her, tell her, make her day. Hopefully Henry will because I know I can’t. She wouldn’t reply anyway. Wrote her a bunch of letters for months. Don’t even know how many. Never heard back.

I top off Jordan’s glass and look over at Henry. “Bit of a circus, then?”

“Of course it’s a circus, BJ.” Allie rolls her eyes impatiently. “She hasn’t been home since—”

“—Allison,” Mum growls.

“What?” She shrugs impatiently. “He knows he cheated on her. Everyone knows.”

“Allison,” Dad says this time.

“Are they expecting a lot of press?” I ask my brother, ignoring the rest of them.

Henry nods.

“Lots of people flying in for it.” He shrugs. “You know Harley.”

“Right.”

“They’ve booked her on a BA flight, told a loud-mouth travel agent she’s flying in on the Monday but she’s taking the jet on Sunday.”

“Smart.” I nod. I want to ask if she’s okay, but I can’t — can’t or shouldn’t? I don’t know — both, probably.

“So why is she coming, anyway?” Jordan asks brightly.

Madeline chimes as she pulls a face. “Awkward.”

I breathe out, shoot my youngest sister a look. “Her dad’s getting married.”

“To their childhood nanny,” Allie adds theatrically. “She used to come on vacations with our families. It’s so crazy—”

“I think I caught them once,” Jemima announces.

“You did not.” Mum rolls her eyes at the same time the young ones collectively gasp.

“Yeah, when we were in the water and he was helping us all back up, his hand was on her behind but when they saw me see it they just laughed and said something about it being slippery!”

“Gross!” Madeline scrunches her face up.

“Anyway, the wedding’s next week,” Allie announces. “We’re all going.”

“Well,” Madeline tosses Allie a bitch look. “Not all of us…”

“Madeline,” Dad growls.

“What?” She shrugs like she doesn’t know. She knows. Madeline is an A-grade manipulator. “She’s not…”

“Thanks, Mads.” I toss her a look and Jordan flashes me an uncomfortable smile.

“Anyway,” Henry jumps in. “She’s not staying long either way.” He looks from me to Jordan, and I can’t tell whether he’s tossing me a line or trying to make a point. Hard to tell with him sometimes, so I drink my wine.

It’s fine, by the way. I’m fucking fine.

I knew she was coming back, and Henry’s right. It’s just for a bit and then she’ll be gone again. Then everything will go back to normal.

Or at least go back to this — whatever ‘this’ is, I guess.

Parks is gone. That’s normal now.

Jordan’s pretty quiet for the rest of the dinner after that and we don’t stay for long, a bit because my sisters keep hounding Henry for every shred of information he has about Magnolia and Rush, and he won’t tell them so they’re getting more and more annoying, and I don’t want to hear it anyway so we thank Mum for dinner and leave pretty quick.

We walk a few houses down before Jordan stops on the street and looks up at me, squinting. “Why aren’t you taking me?”

I give her a look. “It’s my ex-girlfriend’s dad’s wedding. I can’t bring my new girlfriend.”

She shakes her head, annoyed. “Then why are you invited at all?”

“Because,” I shrug, “it’s London high society and shit. I wouldn’t be completely surprised if her mum was invited.”

She gives me a look, but I think she sees my point. Hopefully, anyway.

Her face softens a bit. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it’s not a big deal.” I shrug dismissively.

That’s a lie. Can feel it in my chest as I say it.

Jordan rolls her eyes. “Sounds like she’s always a big deal.”

“Yeah?” I slip my arms around her waist. “And how would you know?”

She gives me a look. “Everyone at my work asks about her all the time, like I’d actually know about her dating whoever that guy is in those stupid movies…” She rolls her eyes.

By those ‘stupid movies’ she means the highest grossing film franchise in the world, but yeah, ‘stupid movies’ works for me.

It annoys her, all this. A bit because she doesn’t get it and that’s hard, and a bit because at least once a week we’ll be out and about and some little sixteen-year-old will come up to me, ask Jordan to take a photo of me with them and then usually they’ll ask me if Magnolia and Rush are really together. The press releases say they’re just friends, and Henry says that’s true. I think he’s telling the truth. Don’t know why he’d lie about that.

I asked him once if they’re sleeping together and he said nah, but I don’t know — that photo at Cannes with Rush’s hand on her waist, there was something about it. So maybe he’s covering for her in a way I don’t think he would for me.

Jordan sighs quietly but I hear it.

“Look, Jords—” I shake my head to placate her. “She probably won’t even talk to me. Avoid me like the plague.”

She looks hopeful. “Really?”

I nod.

“She hates me,” I tell her. I even manage to deliver the line without the Super Mario Bros. death sound effect playing out across the universe.

This relieves her, I can see it on her face.

“And Hen’s right — she’ll be in and out. You won’t even know she’s here.”

This is also an obvious lie but it works for me because Jordan’s never known a London where Parks and I exist in it at the same time.

She doesn’t know. Doesn’t get it. Doesn’t know about the eyes and the photos. Doesn’t know what we’re like if we’re in the same room. How we’re magnets, how we look at each other, how we find each other.

She doesn’t know that I’m a wolf and Parks is the moon whose name I’ve howled since I was fifteen.

Jordan doesn’t know how me and Parks are.

Were.

I mean were.

She smiles more, relaxes, takes my hand in hers. Kisses it. I press her up against my car. Kiss her. It’s conscious but I don’t think of Parks when I kiss her, if you can believe it.

Don’t think of Parks when I sleep with Jordan either. Try not to, anyway. Harder to do sometimes than others — like now — when we’ve been talking about her.

Let me be clear: Jordan’s so hot.

Probably easier that she’s nothing like Parks too, even in the dark. Their bodies feel so different. Jordan’s athletic, boobs and butt and curves. And she’s cool and approachable and easy-going. She’s fun. Level-headed. Drinks beer. Wears denim. Puts her hair in one of those girl buns on top of her head.

She’s no fuss.

She trusts me.

Guess I haven’t given her a reason not to trust me though.

I’m kind of nervous about seeing Parks if I’m honest.

Nervous she’s going to fuck me up a bit. Don’t tell me she won’t, she always does — even if it’s in ways I like.

It’s just easier dating someone who doesn’t rip your heart out of your chest all the fucking time. And Parks always will. She can’t help it. One look at her stupid eyes and I’m undone. Or I used to be — I shake my head at myself, staring at my girlfriend.

Not any more.

For fuck’s sake. Please, not any more.